


Drove Right Past (That No Trespassing Sign)

by coffeehousehaunt



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Birthday Sex, But I've been in it since they used to call it Geocities, F/F, I'd say I've fallen into the sin bin, Knifeplay, Kryptonite Handcuffs, Masturbation, PWP, Smut, it's not incest if one's an alien, lite exhibitionism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-09 22:27:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6926173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeehousehaunt/pseuds/coffeehousehaunt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex's birthday. Kryptonite handcuffs, knives, and why yes, this happens to be an extension of "Side By Side (And Locked In Tight)". The smutty extension. </p><p>You don't actually need to read that one for this to make sense, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drove Right Past (That No Trespassing Sign)

**Author's Note:**

> Why yes, this happens to be an extension of "Side By Side (And Locked In Tight)". Because apparently I'm writing my smut more slowly these days. 
> 
> Title also from "Cop Car", by Sam Hunt. My Kara & Alex song. For whatever unknown reason.

Kara's eyes flicker from the knife to Alex's face. Whatever she sees there, it makes hesitation flit across her face. 

"This is about you, Alex," Kara starts, "You don't have to worry about taking care—“ 

"Ssh." Alex hushes softly, laying the flat of the knife lightly against Kara's lips, which part softly against the metal, a sound that might be a choked whimper escaping. She's standing between Kara's legs now; a thousand comebacks flash through her head, but they all vanish when Kara looks up at her, wide-eyed, pupils dilating. 

So raw. So _present_. Kara's used to being invulnerable. She trembles against the edge, pure trust, heartbeat ticking against the skin of her neck. 

Those eyes flutter shut, and a moment later those lips move, drag against the knife, and then the slow trace of Kara's tongue up the blade, _almost_ along the edge, but not quite. Like everything— _everything_ —in her is focused on the metal against her lips like it's an extension of Alex. 

_Alex's_ breath hitches, now. 

Kara's eyes open stormy-dark, look up through her eyelashes, and Alex’s throat closes on a sound. Chastity belt, her ass. 

She pulls the blade back and grabs a fistful of Kara's hair, pulling her head back, and kisses her. Roughly. Just this side of bruising. Kara trembles against her mouth, a relieved shudder, and if Alex slows, gentles against Kara's mouth, it's because of that; it's because Kara _is_ vulnerable, flesh breakable, nerves heightened, and at that, anything other than tenderness goes out the window. 

Alex lets go abruptly, pulls back, breathing hard, before this turns into something very different. Kara's eyes open, dazed and shocked, trying to follow Alex. 

Alex drops to her knees between Kara's legs. As if she could manage to do anything else. 

Finally, she finds her voice. ”Who says I can't do both?" Kara draws in her breath sharply at that, although that might be the knife tracing the line of her collarbone through her costume. 

When Alex slides the knife between the neckline of the top and Kara's skin, both of them draw a breath in. Everything goes into high focus for Alex; even higher than before. This is _Kara_ , making herself vulnerable for Alex. 

It's not hard to see it in Kara's eyes—the bewildered, broken girl who fell from the stars; who appeared overnight in Alex's home. Who, for whatever unknown reason, decided she _adored_ Alex. Alex turns the blade so the edge is pressed outward against the top, and this is the promise that Alex made, thrumming in her veins. How she ended up protecting a bulletproof girl who can lift a plane with her bare hands. 

Kara isn't that broken girl anymore. But she still adores her. Still looks at Alex with a heart like a full glass about to spill over. The girl who fell from the stars. 

It still makes her hands steady and her head dizzy. It makes Alex feel bulletproof. 

They're close, like this; Kara's breath stirs warm against Alex's face. 

Alex takes the collar in her other hand and saws the blade up; it's a tough start, but once it gets going—

Alex sets the knife aside, takes the top in her hands, and tears it down the middle. Kara's body sways forward with the motion of it. A few locks of her hair spill against the newly-exposed skin. 

This time, it’s Kara who initiates the kiss—eyes closed, an extension of her motion forward. Alex catches her. Kara is soft against her mouth; is warm and open, and then her teeth dragging along Alex’s lower lip hard enough to pull a sound out of Alex’s throat. Kara’s mouth begging against Alex’s lower lip. 

When Alex takes the invitation, runs her hands up over the muscles shifting under the warm, warm skin of Kara’s abdomen; up over her breasts, pushing the shirt back over her shoulders until it’s caught around Kara’s arms and the back of the chair; pulls back to nip at Kara’s lower lip and slide her tongue into Kara’s mouth; permits herself to _take_ ; Kara makes a soft sound and opens further for her. Kara _lets_ her. Light and heat moves through Alex from the top of her head to the base of her spine. 

Alex pushes up onto her feet. Moves until she’s straddling Kara’s lap, sits until they’re pressed front-to-front—no, that won’t work. Alex leans back and peels her shirt off; lets it drop to the floor and presses their bodies back together. Skin to skin. Both her hands tangle in Kara’s hair, cup her face. 

Alex loses herself in the heat of Kara’s body. With her eyes closed, this close, it’s like having her fingers threaded through sunlight. The slick heat of Kara’s mouth against hers. Skin of her face—her chest, her stomach—hot against Alex’s like she just came in from the sun. Alex rolls her hips down against Kara’s body, heat bleeding in through her jeans. Both of them gasp. Kara pushes back against her. 

Alex keeps moving like that, until they’re both panting and Alex can feel the rough material of her jeans scraping over her underwear—slickened and stuck to the swollen flesh underneath. Until Alex feels herself spread open and aching with only an inch and a layer of denim between her and Kara’s skin, so close and not close enough. Until every involuntary twitch of her hips makes her pulse, throbbing around nothing. 

They pull back, panting, and Kara’s eyes open midnight-dark and dazed. Alex’s head spins as she reaches down between them and undoes the belt at her waist, the button on her jeans, the zipper; slides her hand down the front of her underwear—a moan slipping through her lips when her fingers slip so easily through heated, aching flesh—and sinks down on two of them, pushing slow and easily into her. This time, the sound she makes is more guttural. " _Fuck._ ” 

Kara lets out a sound that’s pure, tortured need. 

Alex licks her lips and shifts her angle until she’s holding onto the back of the chair with her free hand, and the other set _just so_ , so that the back of her hand brushes against Kara’s inner thighs; higher, where it’s even hotter. 

Kara doesn’t break her gaze, lips parted, something like awe written on her face. Alex starts to curl her fingers, stroking—and rocks forward to kiss Kara again, a moan tightening low in her stomach. 

She can’t reach for Alex—the cuffs scrape every now and then—but moans, shuddering breaths—Kara devours all of them, tastes all of them; Alex’s mouth gone soft against hers, rocking on the tension working in her thighs, the white-hot pleasure building around her fingers. Kara _worshipping_ at Alex’s lips. 

There’s a faint line of sweat starting at Alex’s hairline; a bead of it runs down her cheek. “Kara,” barely more than a rough whisper against her lips. 

Kara knows the rhythm of her breathing, the liquid movement of Alex’s hips. The slackening in her face, her limbs, as she gets closer. The tremor in the hand hanging onto the chair. Alex breaks away, panting, unable to coordinate any of it anymore, unable to focus on anything but the rocking of her hips, the pressure building inside her, around her fingers, with every movement, every pulse, twitch of her fingertips—even the pressure of her crooked knuckles against her insides. 

“Alex.” Kara jerks her wrists against the cuffs, squirms and tugs, voice urgent. “Alex, I want to touch you.” 

Alex’s breath catches, and then everything starts to speed up; streaks of light inside her eyelids. She tosses her hair back, panting to regain some control; shakes her hair away from her face, so she can open her eyes and crook a smile at Kara. Both feel impossibly heavy. “I know.” 

She holds Kara's gaze as long as she can; watches the clench of her jaw, the hunger in Kara's eyes as they devour her. Like Kara can see the orgasm building under her skin. 

Alex's head tilts back, slightly, her eyes going closed and her breath drawing ragged, and Kara is grinding with her hips, too, her voice desperate: "Alex. Alex, _please_." The cuffs rattle against the chair. 

It’s Kara’s voice, the pleading in it, that pushes her over the edge; the _please_. A sharp sound escapes her mouth—her hips snap and grind involuntarily on her fingers, pushing her hand back against Kara, her cunt clenching down. 

It all radiates outwards, and Kara's legs beneath hers, her body, is the only thing keeping her here; Kara’s voice in a mix of need and wonder. It just drives her higher. " _Alex_."  

It's all for Kara, really; it might look like teasing (it is, she _can_ do both), but Alex feels a piece of herself come loose, feels something splitting open, her skin raw with pleasure and something bared that only Kara ever gets to see. Alex shudders, moving helplessly. She _wants_ Kara to see. 

It's not that she's never been with anyone else; it's just that _this_ , this part of herself, never comes out. She's never bare like this with anyone else. Even with her clothes off. 

Alex sways forward as the tension leaves her body; rests her forehead against Kara's. There's just the sound of their ragged breathing. Kara's chin tilts forward tentatively, maybe even unconsciously. Alex presses her lips, still tingling from her orgasm, to Kara's. Kara kisses her like she wants to capture the taste of it from Alex's lips. 

Alex slides her fingers out of herself, drawing out one more shudder—but Kara's solid against her, grounding and so _warm_ , fierce and longing, and Alex lets herself float there, bringing her arms up to rest on Kara's shoulders. 

"Your hand." Kara husks after a moment. Alex is just stoned enough on afterglow and adrenaline to only quirk her lips as she pulls the hand she was fucking herself with back to where Kara can reach it. 

Kara turns her head and drags her lips up Alex's wet fingers, then opens and takes them into her mouth. Alex gasps slightly—the run of Kara's tongue up, flat against, curving down and between—the utter, singular devotion on Kara's face, even with her eyes closed. 

Finally, Kara pulls back and opens her eyes. “Okay,” She husks, “Really though.” She tugs at the cuffs, nostrils flaring slightly, eyes challenging—she knows how the muscles in her shoulders, her chest, ripple under Alex’s gaze. Against her skin. 

Alex laughs low in her throat and kisses her until she feels dizzy all over again; kisses the taste of herself from Kara’s lips. “I haven’t even gotten you undressed yet.” 

Kara lets out a tortured groan that sounds an awful lot like the one she makes when Alex steals the last potsticker. Alex laughs, aloud, a little breathless, forehead pressed to Kara’s.


End file.
